Chapter 394: CHAOS Is Coming!!!!
Maya had seen Phei do a lot of objectively insane shit in the last three weeks.
She’d watched him charm an entire room without opening his mouth. Seen him casually stroll on air thirty feet above twenty thousand screaming fans like he was late for homeroom. Watched him stare down Legacy boys and make them flinch like scolded puppies.
But she had never seen him shiver.
Not from fear. Not from anything.
And yet here he was—sprawled across her lap on a private terrace behind the most exclusive club on the planet—staring at a phone like it had personally insulted him, his entire body doing that tiny, involuntary full-contact tremble usually reserved for small animals who just realised the hawk circling overhead has their name on the menu.
The Ice Prince had left the building and the boy underneath peeked out.
One text message. One glowing line of doom.
And whatever cold composure he’d been wearing like designer armour simply evacuated.
What remained was a seventeen-year-old boy who looked like he’d just been told the
She stopped. Mid-sentence. Mouth still open.
“There’s nowhere, is there?”
She deflated. Just a fraction. The operational freight train finally hitting the buffers of brutal honesty.
“No,” she admitted. “Probably not.”
His rambling disaster. That’s what she was.
Phei sat up slowly.
Reluctant. Like leaving her lap cost him actual physical currency he didn’t have enough of.
He glanced over at the bench ten feet away—Sierra, Maddie, Delilah—three sets of eyes that hadn’t blinked since he’d been carried out here like a wounded prince.
He gave them a small, casual wave. The kind you give when you’re just heading to the bathroom, not the kind you give when your entire nervous system has just been rebooted by existential dread.
“I’ll be back soon.”
He stood. Walked away before any of them could form the question.
The corridor behind the terrace was dim. Empty. Bass from the main floor reduced to a muffled heartbeat through concrete.
Phei pulled the phone back out.
Dialled the only number that could make him feel like a guilty five-year-old again.
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